


The Jewel of Valyria

by xdarksistahx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alpha!Jon, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Bonding, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Omega!Daenerys, Pro Targaryen restoration, Prophecy, R Plus L Equals J, Scent Marking, common tropes of the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdarksistahx/pseuds/xdarksistahx
Summary: For his war efforts, esteemed General Jon is rewarded the east's rarest treasure, Princess Daenerys who is the sole survivor of a once, great house. Princess Daenerys believes hope is lost and that death would be sweeter than being tied to a monster. That is until the reemergence of a forgotten prophecy.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 103
Kudos: 459





	The Jewel of Valyria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AegonTheDread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AegonTheDread/gifts).



> This is a gift for my bro! It was fun to write <3

In a way, Daenerys always knew this day would come. 

She is, after all, the only daughter of King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name. Her eldest brother, Rhaegar, died during a campaign in the west four and ten years ago, and then when their enemies came east, her other brother, Viserys, was killed during the siege of their palace. 

With the help of the royal guards, only she and her mother were able to escape. They lived on the run, surviving on nothing but strangers’ kindness and the gods’ grace for half a year before they were eventually found and captured. Her mother perished during the arduous journey west. 

The enemy soldiers spat on the ground at Daenerys’s feet when she begged them to grant her mother a proper funeral that adhered to their customs. 

In Valyria, they bathed their dead then covered them in oil, singing songs all the while, then they wrapped their bodies in cloth. Afterward, they burned the body so that the person’s soul found its way to Morghe dīnagon to be with their ancestors. Her mother, Queen Rhaella, was given half that. They set her body aflame in the same place she fell and they didn’t stay behind to watch her burn. 

Daenerys is now the sole survivor of a once esteemed and noble house. The Valyrian Stronghold was laid to waste. She saw the ruin with her own eyes, watched the towers burn through a blur of tears. 

The only reason why she’s still alive is due to her being an unmated omega. Because of that, she has value to these savages that bled her home dry and slaughtered all of her people.

A grand feast is held to celebrate her capture and the end of the Targaryen line as the King surely plans to have her mated to one of his most trusted men. Any pups she bears him will not be Targaryen. It's humiliating and diminishing to think her family will end with her. 

After a bath, Daenerys is dressed in a thin gown, her long, silver hair is brushed until it shines, and they oil her feet and adorn her ankles with gold jewelry. They speak to her in a language she can’t understand; if she could understand them she wouldn’t answer either way. 

To them, she appears to have given in to her fate, but inwardly Daenerys is contemplating how she will end her own life. She has heard horrific stories about what happens to omegas who are captured by enemy forces. She would rather die than have her body tainted with their filth. 

There are plenty of guards around. Perhaps she can take one of their swords and throw herself on it. It would be a noble death. She was told her beloved brother, Rhaegar, died a noble death. 

The palace’s towers are high. Not as high as they were in Valyria but if she jumped from one she would surely die. She doubts they’ll burn what’s left of her. Would they even bother to grant her that one thing? 

Daenerys decides she will walk into the flames on her own. There is a pit in the washroom. She stares into it listlessly, seeing nothing yet also everything she’s lost. From the flames, she hears her mother’s voice, beckoning her closer. Her feet move on their own. 

A beta servant grabs her by the arm, their touch surprisingly gentle, and it startles her. She doesn’t understand what they are telling her but their voice is kind. Daenerys allows them to place a full veil over her, shrouding her from the outside world’s gaze. 

They usher her out of the washroom, out into the massive corridor, away from the flickering flames, away from her freedom. 

* * *

The feast has barely reached its height and Jon is ready to retire even though he’s the guest of honor. 

There’s only so much of it he can take, truth be told. Every feast is the same. The same roasted game killed and cooked the same day, a scattering of nuts and figs and berries, salted fish, quail eggs, and a steady supply of mead to wash it all down. 

He used to enjoy the feasts. He used to enjoy the raucousness and the unruliness of the other alphas who were unable to keep their hands off of their mates until they were in private. Jon can recall a time, that now feels like ages ago, when he wished he had a mate of his own to fall into after a night of drinking and laughter.

War changed him. How could he not be changed after what he witnessed in Essos? How could he not be changed after the things he did in Essos? 

When their king announced his intentions to conquer the unknown territory, Jon was eager to join the ranks and make his kingdom proud. It took him five years to advance from warrior to general to god in the eyes of his king. He led his men through village after village, keep after keep until finally, they reached the dragon’s doorstep. 

Valyria was unlike any place he’d ever seen with towers that reached into the heavens and beyond. Watching that once magnificent city burn brought him no joy. All of the celebratory wine and food tasted like ash on his tongue. He still hasn’t been able to recover his sense of taste. 

Roaring laughter yanks Jon out of his thoughts of fire and bloodshed. He looks down the table to where the King is seated on the other end. The king stands, his round belly knocking over the goblet of wine on the table. The jolly man laughs it off, making the entire hall erupt with laughter. 

Jon doesn’t laugh. He’s lost the will to do so. 

“At long last,” the King begins, his voice still strong and clear despite the overconsumption, “we have crushed the foe in the east!” His words are followed by bellowing cheers and the crashing of cups on the tables. “I have done what no King in Westeros could ever achieve. As powerful as I am, I could not have achieved this without the god among men, Jon of House Stark! The White Wolf!” 

The cheers shatter Jon’s ears. Several of his men pat him on the back roughly. Admittedly it’s a good feeling to be recognized like this, but he can’t remove the bitterness from his heart. An entire civilization that has been around for centuries is now gone and he helped eradicate it. 

The arched doors of the hall open. A bustle of servants enters with a shrouded figure walking in the middle of them. 

“A rare gift for a rare man,” the King says, outstretching his hand. “No man has ever touched her. No alpha has ever had her. It is said that she is the most beautiful creature in the east. For your undying loyalty and bravery, I give you, the Jewel of Valyria!” 

Jon swallows hard as he stares at the figure. Although he can’t see her face, he knows she is staring back at him.

“Go now,” the King orders him. “Go now and claim your well-deserved prize, oh great warrior!” 

Everyone is silently waiting for Jon to remove the omega’s veil, show off his prize. But he does no such thing. He thanks the king for the gift and expresses his deepest sincerity. Then he orders the servants to take the omega to his living quarters. He won’t subject her to the alphas’ hungry, predatory gazes. 

Jon remains at the feast until he’s certain they’ve reached his quarters then he takes his leave.

This gift is unexpected. When the king told him that he would reward him for his victories, Jon assumed the man intended to give him gold, perhaps a seat on the small council. He assumed the princess would go to the King's Hand. Honestly, being legitimized after living as a bastard during his childhood and most of his adult life was more than he could’ve hoped for as a reward. 

Despite what is said behind his back, his mother wasn’t a whore. She was a noblewoman who fell in love with a foreigner. They married in secret but because marriages that are not approved by the king are considered illegitimate in the eyes of Westerosi law, his mother bore him out of wedlock. 

She was stripped of the land and titles that were meant to be her’s by birthright and shunned. They were meant to return to the east with his father but the man died. The way his mother always spoke of his father lets Jon know that they did truly love each other. Never stopped him from resenting the man as he got older, however. 

As Jon is entering his living quarters, he hears shouts and shattering glass coming from his chambers. Rushing inside, he’s met with quite the sight. One of his servants are covering their bleeding face while the other is wrestling with a silver-haired omega that he soon realizes is the Jewel of Valyria. 

Before she uses the shard of the broken looking glass to scalp the other servant, Jon grabs her from behind and pries the blade from her hand. Her hand is bleeding from how tightly she was gripping the glass. 

“Easy,” Jon whispers to her as she struggles in his arms. She has a lot of fight in her as small as she is. “I know you’re scared,” he says, still speaking softly, “but I won’t hurt you. Let me see your hand. I can bandage it for you.” 

Jon might as well be talking to a flagon of sweet wine. 

The omega continues to fight him, screaming and elbowing him in the ribcage. As an alpha, all he needs to do is snarl at her and give a command and she’ll obey. But his mother would knock him upside the head from her grave if he did that. Omegas aren’t pets, his mother taught him. She was an omega herself but she carried herself like an alpha. It was because of her that Jon could never settle for the typical, docile omegas who lived to serve and breed for their alphas. 

A fighter, he long decided, not some willowy creature who submitted easily. 

He turns the omega around in his arms instead, making her face him. At the sight of her, the wind is knocked out of him. It’s her eyes that reel him in. It’s as if he’s staring at twin jewels. There are tears in her eyes, a sense of hopelessness, and it makes his cold heart thud. 

“Ivestragī nyke morghūljagon,” she says, her lip trembling. “Ivestragī nyke morghūljagon….” She sobs. 

“No,” Jon replies to her, speaking in the same tongue, “no, I won’t let you die.” 

The omega’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open as she looks at him, truly looks at him. “Ao...ȳdragon Valyrīha?” she asks. 

He spent two years fighting their enemies here and then three years fighting them in the east so he had no choice but to learn Valyrian, but he picked it up faster than the others who cared enough to learn because his mother had already taught him the basics. And she was taught by his father. 

Jon explains all of that to her. As he speaks, she begins to relax in his arms. He takes her bleeding hand and she flinches away, tensing again. 

“May I clean this for you?” he asks, still using Valyrian. “It will get infected if I don’t.” 

She stares at him, her lilac eyes scanning his face warily. There isn’t a single scar or imperfection on her face, and her scent is the sweetest thing he’s ever smelt. She’s truly a treasure. 

She gives him permission to clean her hand. He has the unharmed servant tend to the injured one. The two betas scramble out of the room. Jon walks her over to his bed, sitting her down on the edge of it. She looks around the room curiously, and he knows she’s looking for the nearest escape. 

Jon fetches a basin of water, ointment, and cloth. He kneels at her feet and cleans her hand carefully, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. She’s justifiably untrustworthy of him. He is, after all, the man who helped take everything away from her. 

“What’s your name?” he asks as he applies ointment to her cut. He glances up at her, unsurprised to see her scowling down at him. She looks the part of the princess she is. “I am called Jon. My men and the common folk will refer to me as General but you don’t have to.” 

She says nothing. She just continues to scowl at him.

* * *

Daenerys was surprised when the alpha replied to her in her mother’s tongue, but that surprise and wonderment has worn off. This man is a warrior. If not for the scar over his left eye, the bulk of his frame, and the calluses on his hands and fingers, his scent gives him away. 

He carries a commanding scent, one tinged with calamity and anguish. But beneath that, there’s something else, something inciting. It agitates her, his scent. It makes her entire body respond in ways foreign to her. 

This man, Jon, is a murderer. She is certain that he killed her people, that he led the enemy forces in battle. Why else would this land’s King give her, a princess, to this man? Why else would people call him General? 

His touch may be gentle as he cares for her wound and his voice may sound warm and inviting but that doesn’t change what he is. When he asks her name she has to stop herself from spitting in his face. She waits for him to ask again so that she might. She might even slap him and watch his true nature reveal itself, but he doesn’t ask again. 

Once her hand is bandaged, Jon cleans his hands in the basin then he takes it away. There is a large tub of water on the other side of the room that she missed earlier. He walks over to it and begins to undress. 

Gasping quietly, Daenerys tucks her feet under her on the bed and moves away even though he’s nowhere near her. She looks away sharply when his toned backside is exposed, using this time to finally take in the room. 

It’s rather large yet still small compared to her room in Valyria. The tan walls are bare aside from hanging herbs and a map of the western kingdom. There are clay vases and flagons on the floor in one corner, and a sword, shield, and helmet on the floor in the opposite corner. In front of the bed lies the hide of a great beast that she’s never seen before. Its fur is as black as night. She wonders if he slew this poor creature. 

The sound of water splashing pulls her gaze back to him. He is dipping his hair in the water, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing. Even through her hatred, she can recognize that he is a fine alpha. Strong and handsome. He should have at least two mates already, a man of his stature. 

That sensation returns; the one she briefly felt while he was cleaning her cut. Daenerys continues to watch him bathe as heat trickles up and down her spine like a thousand and one ants as fire licks at her core. She presses her thighs together, whimpering under her breath. 

The fireplace isn’t lit and the window is open, a smooth breeze blowing in. So why is she so hot? 

Jon gets out of the tub, soaking wet from head to toe. His torso is riddled with scars. He wraps his lower half quickly. “Are you hungry?” he asks as he walks over to a wooden chest. Kneeling down, he pops it open and takes out breeches. “I can have food brought for you.” 

Daenerys is hungry, she realizes. No, she’s ravenous all of a sudden. But not for food. But for something else. Anything that can calm this raging fire inside of her. Her flesh begins to sweat, her breathing becoming shallow, and her heart races. Her nipples harden and her thighs feel slippery. 

What’s happening? She’s afraid. This has never happened to her before. 

Jon pulls his breeches up then he stiffens. Slowly, he turns his head toward her, his grey eyes darkening. In the sparse candlelight, they almost look purple. His nostrils flare then relax as he sniffs the air, his eyes closing shut. Then they snap open once he smells her, and Daenerys’s heart leaps in her chest. 

It’s him. She understands it now. It’s him that her body is craving. 

Against her mental will, her arms open wide, beckoning to him. “Alpha,” she whimpers.

* * *

How strange. During his bath, he was just thinking about how thankful he was that the King didn’t have his servants give the omega any heat inducers to make her more compliant; the man is known to do that to his own mates. 

Jon planned to see if she was hungry and see to it that she was fed. Then he was going to sleep in one of the other rooms in the abode. He had no intention of sharing the bed with her or even being near her as he knows she doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

But then this had to happen. 

“Alpha,” she moans again, her eyes are blown wide and glazed over with false adoration. She writhes on the bed, touching down her body enticingly. “Alpha...please…” 

This isn’t her. This is an omega whose heat has been spurred on for whatever reason. What could have possibly triggered it? Jon has been careful this whole time to keep his scent masked. With her sharp senses, she would still be able to smell it but she wouldn’t get aroused from it. He has heard stories of omegas going into heat when in the presence of their true mates but that is a rare occurrence.

The omega begins to pull up her gown with trembling hands, her eyes welling with tears from the overwhelming pleasure. She purrs sweetly, trying to get him to come closer. Jon grits his teeth, biting back a responding growl. He needs to get the hell out of here. 

He won’t take her while she’s like this even though it’s in his nature to do so. He won’t be a mindless alpha who thinks with their cock. The war showed him the ugly side to his kind and he vowed to never stoop that low. The King might’ve gifted her to him but she’s isn’t his omega. 

But fuck it’s going to be difficult to refuse a woman like her. 

Jon looks at the door but her scent and her cries grab his attention again. She’s in pain as well. The pleasure is too much for her. If he leaves her, she’ll suffer for hours but if he stays he can offer her some relief. 

“Knot,” she whines, begging for him to fill her with pups, sounding drunk. She tugs at the top of her dress, exposing her perky breasts. “Give me...give me…” 

“I won’t,” he says, stepping closer. “You’ll be pissed when this is over if I put a baby in you.” He chuckles to ease the tension. 

The omega starts sobbing again. “Please!” 

“I said no,” Jon says, adding a little force to his tone. “Stop asking for it. You don’t even want that.” 

“I want you,” she says and it almost sounds believable. She pulls her dress down to her waist, and he’s never seen anything or anyone so perfect. “I want you, Alpha.” 

She can’t even say his name. She’ll take any alpha right now, it doesn’t matter who. That gives Jon the added motivation he needs not to give in to her. He gets on the bed, ignoring her purr of excitement. He takes her into his arms, their bare skin touching, and she wraps her legs around his hips, rubbing herself against him. If he won’t fuck her, she’ll fuck herself against him it would appear. 

The scent of her and the heat of her body make him hard but he resists. It takes every ounce of will power he possesses to resist her. 

Cursing under his breath, he nuzzles against her neck, using his scent to calm her. She keeps wiggling her hips and scratching up his back but the pleading has stopped. Gradually, her movements slow down. It feels as if hours have passed. From the withering candle, he can tell that hours have indeed passed. 

They’re both sweating now, and he’s exhausted as if he just had a grueling battle. Resisting an omega in heat is a grueling battle, truth be told. 

The omega’s movements stop altogether, her body going slack.

“That’s right,” he says softly. “Just sleep this off…” He pets her hair and lays her down on the bed, remaining on top of her. “You’ll feel better in the morning so sleep.” 

He looks to see if she’s sleeping but her eyes are still open and they’re clearer now, no longer shrouded by lust. Jon assumes she’s well enough to do without his comforting so he moves off of her, but she stops him. 

“Daenerys,” she says, her voice small. “My name is Daenerys.” 

Jon smiles at her. “Daenerys,” he says backs. “You should get some sleep. I promise not to touch you any more than I have.” 

Daenerys stares at him as if she wants to say more but she doesn’t. When he moves away from her, she doesn’t stop him. Her dress is soaked from her sweat so he gives her one of his light tunics to wear. 

“Where are you going?” she asks him as he’s leaving the room. 

“To sleep in another room.” 

“Why?” 

Jon was certain that was what she wanted. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks, hopeful though he knows he shouldn’t be. 

Daenerys looks away from him. “Do as you please. I have no say here,” she says sadly. 

There’s something he’s missing. Just before her sudden heat, she looked as if she wanted to rip his head off. Now she wishes for him to stay with her. Perhaps it’s the aftermath of her heat that makes her seek the comfort of a man she obviously hates. He shouldn’t indulge her as he’s certain it’ll come back to bite him in the ass later. 

People tend to do and say things they don’t mean during their mating cycles. During his ruts, he fantasizes about having a family full of one hundred pups. When his head is clear, he wants to live out his days alone because it’s what he truly deserves. 

Nonetheless, there are other factors to consider. She’s in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers, and she just went into heat. Even Jon can understand why she wouldn’t want to be alone now. 

He knows all too well how it feels to be alone.

* * *

There was a custom in Valyria for the royal children to seek out the Oracle to have their prophecies read to them when they reach the age of nine. 

Her parents were arranged to be married because of their prophecies, Rhaegar led the campaign west because it was the will of his prophecy, and Viserys developed a fear of heights due to what he saw in his future. As for Daenery, the Oracle told her that the alpha that could withstand the call of his nature during a dire time would be the alpha she conquered the world with. 

Prophecies aren’t always word for word. Conquering the world could mean anything as the world is perceived differently per individual. To a peasant, the world is as vast as their hovel. To a King, the world is their kingdom. 

Daenerys always thought the prophecy meant she would find a mate who treated her as an equal and they would rule Valyria together. 

Fate is cruel, however. 

This man, Jon, resisted her during her heat; a dire time. Her first heat at that. It started because of him, his scent, and he did not take her. He simply comforted her and made her feel safer than she has in the past year. 

Of all the alphas in the world, the gods chose this man for her. If the gods willed it, who is she to deny them? She supposes it could be worse. At the very least he’s respectable and kind. So far. 

She’s glad that he chose to stay here with her rather than sleep in another room but he doesn’t hold her again. He sleeps with his back to her with space between them. It could be that he doesn’t desire her. How else could he fight his nature and win? 

No. He does desire her. She smelled it on him, felt the hardness in his breeches. She saw it in his eyes the moment they looked at each other. Not in this room but when they were in front of the King. 

Daenerys reminds herself that she is a princess, the blood of Valyria, the dragon’s daughter. If she wants him to hold her, all she has to do is say so. 

But he’s sleeping. She shouldn’t disturb him. 

Anxiousness settles in, sitting on her stomach like stones. It’s difficult to sleep in this strange place. Jon is fine but what of the others? Will he protect her from his own people if they decide they want to do away with her? If he doesn’t claim her as his, what’s stopping anyone else from forcing themself on her? 

As a princess, she was guarded by betas at all times. No one dared to touch her or look upon her for too long. During the journey here, betas were in charge of transporting her and her mother. But here she is no longer a princess and no one is here to protect her from alphas except Jon. 

Daenerys’s scent changes with her emotions. It’s sweet and enticing when she’s aroused but rancid when she’s distressed. It’s the same for all omegas. She clenches her eyes shut, biting her lip to muffle her cries. She must remain strong. 

The bed shifts as Jon turns around to her. He puts his arms around her and she instinctively curls against his body. He’s so warm. 

“What was your favorite thing about your home?” Jon asks, petting her hair softly. 

Daenerys likes how she doesn't have to explain her distress to him. 

She doesn’t want to think about her home. Still, she answers. “My mother’s garden.” It was her favorite place to spend her days. Sometimes she would go there at night to stare at the stars and think about her mate the prophecy spoke of. “There was a lemon tree there…” 

“Did you ever plant anything?” 

“No.” 

“What did the garden look like?” 

It was well-manicured and full of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. The royal gardener did most of the upkeep but from time to time her mother would tend to her flowers. The door that led to the garden was red. When she and Viserys played they referred to it as the magic door. 

Whenever she opened it to step into the garden it was as if she was walking into a different realm. She tells Jon about the games she and her brother played until he grew too old for games and preferred to spend his time with male omegas at the pleasure houses. 

Jon listens without interruption and she talks until her eyes grow heavy and her words run together.

* * *

Come morning Daenerys finds herself alone in bed but the bed still holds Jon’s scents. She buries her nose in his pillow, a purr rumbling out of her unbiddenly. Already she’s softening to him. It makes sense considering who he is to her. 

Even still, Daenerys isn’t at ease in this place. She holds his pillow against her, fully intent to remain that way until he returns. But two servants enter with food and clothes for her. As a prized war general, Jon is a man of prestige. At least he would be in Valyria. She’s curious to see how the rest of his home looks. 

The betas do not understand her refusal of the food or the clothes. To spare herself the trouble, she allows them to bathe and dress her. She breaks her fast with figs, cheese, and she nibbles on the fish. One of the servants checks her wound after she eats. They reapply ointment and new cloth. The cut doesn't bother her that much, honestly. 

“Where is Jon?” she asks, forgetting the language barrier. 

One of the servants replies to her and for the life of her, she can’t understand a word they’re saying. Surely Jon being able to understand her means that without a doubt he’s her chosen mate. The gods can be cruel but they are thoughtful at times. 

Daenerys draws her own conclusions about his whereabouts. Jon is a general. Even in times of peace, he would be seeing to the army and overseeing drills.

They never know when they will have to defend themselves or when their King will send them off again. She tries not to think about his role in the war with Valyria though her bitterness about it will never abandon her.

The servants gather up her plates and leave her in the room. She considers returning to bed but finds herself restless now. She walks over to the window, staring out at the open courtyard. The closer she is to the window, the better she can hear the kissing of blades. There are men down there, alphas, sparring with swords and spears. 

Seeing a head of familiar, dark curls, she opens the window for a better look. Jon is sparring with another alpha both are fine fighters but Jon is better. That much is obvious. Her heart begins to race as she watches him parry the blows and evade his opponent’s advances. There’s something about his prowess that has her pressing her thighs together again. She assumes it’s basic instinct. Omegas are drawn to strong alphas, mates who can protect them and any potential offspring. 

Jon has the opening. They’re not sparring with wooden swords so if he takes it, his opponent will be injured. But Jon doesn’t take it. He ends the fight by knocking the man’s sword from his hand. Then he patiently corrects him on his mistakes. He doesn’t boast nor does he belittle the man. 

Would it be so bad to accept him? For all of his war crimes, he’s not a monster from what she’s seen. Besides, her favorite brother killed too. He was a general as well. Blood was on his hands yet she mourned him nonetheless and wished the gods would return him. If she loved him why can’t she love Jon? 

Last night she had a moment of weakness and selfishness when she thought of walking into the flames. She must see to it that her family doesn’t die out with her. The dragon must live on. 

One of the soldiers spots her. He grins at her and makes a crude remark. She doesn’t understand what he says but she knows it’s crude because of how he says it and how the men around him laugh. 

Jon glances at the window and sees her, and then he turns his gaze to the man who made the remark. He doesn’t say anything. His look alone has the man bowing his head apologetically. 

Yes, Jon will make a worthy mate indeed. 

* * *

“Forgive me,” Jon says. “I never meant to make you wait around for me all day.” 

Following drills, he took his men to assist with the new road the King is building. The merchants were in the square so he went there afterward to pick up a couple of things for Daenerys. 

One of the older women at the spice tent helped him choose gowns for her, and she even tried to sell him spice to assist them during bed sport but he declined. He doubts they’ll need any aid when and if they ever do that. He bought her a brush, jeweled combs, and books to help her learn the common tongue. 

He lays it all out before her on the bed. “Next time I’ll take you with me so you can pick you own things out,” he says. “I have something else for you, too.” 

Daenerys runs her fingers down a book's spines. “Show me.” 

Jon offers her his hand. “We’ll have to go outside.” 

She takes his hand faster than he thought she would, and she doesn’t let it go as they walk out of the room and down the corridor. The servants are moving around, preparing supper, and cleaning out the room he’s setting aside for her. He wants her to have her own space if she ever grows tired of his sullenness. 

“There’s more work to be done,” he tells her as they step out of the door that leads to the yard in the back. “But I made sure the ground was ready for use.” 

Daenerys glances around curiously, her silver brows pinched together. 

Jon removes the sack of seeds from his belt. “Here,” he says, handing it to her. “You can plant your own lemon tree. Your own vegetables and flowers too. I bought different seeds.” 

Her eyes begin to water, and he wonders if perhaps it’s too soon to remind her of all that she’s lost. Then she looks up at him with a brilliant smile that sucks the air out of Jon’s lungs. He’s startled when she wraps her arms around his neck, and he can tell the action startles her too because she quickly moves away from him, staring at the ground. 

“Can...can we plant the seeds together?” she asks. 

“Sure.”  
  
He’d love to plant the seeds with her. It’d be a fresh start for them both, he thinks. They go and get the tools. The servants eye them curiously as they speak to each other in Valyrian and laugh together. Jon laughs easier, he breathes easier and just exists easier around her. He can’t explain nor does he care to contemplate over it. He just allows it to happen. 

* * *

They manage to plant the lemon tree as well as a small section of vegetables before day turns into night. Jon promises her they can finish tomorrow. They wash up before supper then eat in his room. She tells him that she doesn’t like fish and he makes sure they never serve it to her again. 

“What do you like?” he asks. “This is your home, too. I want you to be comfortable here.” 

The words leave his mouth without thought or motive. He genuinely wants her to be happy here. He even thinks he can make her happy. 

Daenerys has a long sip of wine, draining the cup. Then she stands, her eyes never leaving his face. Jon isn’t sure what he expected her to do but taking his cup from his hand, placing it on the table, and straddling his lap was the last thing that came to mind. 

“I like your lips,” she whispers, touching his face, her eyes wide and wanting, leaning in with weakened strength. “I like the pretty words you speak. I’ve decided to make you my alpha.” 

Jon blinks in surprise. “That should be the other way around,” he says, smirking. “Alphas do the claiming.” 

“Then claim me, Alpha.” She brushes her lips against his. “Jon, I want to be yours.” 

That’s what Jon has been waiting for. Now that he has it, he sees no reason to deny her or himself anymore. Her lips are soft, plump, and sweeter than he imagined. He puts his arms around her to steady her during their kiss. She’s brave and confident despite never being with a man, let alone an alpha before. 

It crosses his mind to clear the table and fuck her on top of it. Not this time, he decides. He carries her to bed, still kissing her, untying the strings at the shoulders of her gown. When he lays her on her back, the fabric falls from her porcelain skin. Last night he didn’t drink in the sight of her body the way he wanted. He makes up for it now. 

Daenerys lives up to her given name. She’s truly a jewel.

She kicks her gown off, shyly parting her thighs, revealing her wet cunt to his gaze. Jon slips out of his jerkin but is too impatient to bother with his breeches. She smells too good not for him to taste her. She lets out the most beautiful moan the instant his tongue touches her. 

“Jon!” she screams, her hands locked in fists in Jon’s hair. 

He grunts in reply, licking up the excess juices, reveling in how fucking sweet it is, how much Daenerys shivers under his tongue, and Jon can’t help himself when he props the omega’s thighs up, shoving his tongue in to draw out more of her pleasure. 

He remembers how badly he wanted her during her heat, how painfully hard his cock was at the time. It’s just as hard now but at least he’ll have relief soon. 

Daenerys tugs on his hair roughly and clamps her thighs around his face as she cums. He keeps licking and licking until she’s begging him to take her. She helps him out of his breeches, taking his cock in her hand once it’s freed, twisting and tugging on it clumsily. Jon places his hand over hers, showing her how to properly do it. The lesson is short as they’re both eager. 

Omegas are wettest and more aroused when they’re in comfortable settings. So Jon isn’t startled by the wetness on Daenerys’s thighs and stomach. He considers tasting her again but then she bucks her hips against him impatiently, her wet folds brushing against his cock. 

Jon doesn’t protest, the alpha in him giving a low growl, sliding into Daenerys, granting her deep thrusts that leaves him with nothing but her squeals ringing in his ears. She’s tight, hot, and incredibly wet, so wet, that he doesn’t see this lasting long. 

He’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the knowledge that he’s fully capable of pleasuring her, and if she does end up wanting more it would be out of a desire for more pleasure, not unfulfillment. 

He bends her knees back, sitting up so that he can see her better, fuck her better. Her breasts bounce, her back arching, her face, and skin are flushed and beaded with sweat. 

“Jon,” she moans, rocking her hips against him. “Jon!” She screams it, her voice better than any minstrel’s song. 

She’s only silenced by Jon’s lips pressed against her own, the alpha’s tongue forcing itself past the omega’s teeth, taking claim of her mouth. She told him she wanted him, that she wanted to be his. 

With that in mind, he pulls out of her, turns her on her stomach and thrusts back in before a complaint can pass her beautiful lips. Jon pulls her hair away from her neck, away from the throbbing scent glands at her nape where she’ll carry his mark for all to see that she belongs to him. 

He lets his instincts take over, sinking his teeth into Daenerys’s scent glands, claiming the omega, _his_ omega, letting out a low grunt when he does, but even better than that, even better, is the way Daenerys whines, a sharply pitched squeal that ripped at the omega’s throat. He drags his tongue over the mark as if sealing it in place. Daenerys’s body trembles with the force of her orgasm. 

Jon follows after her, wishing that this was her heat or his rut so that his knot could take form and fill her with his pups. In due time, he assures himself. 

As they lay on the bed, spent, sweating, and sore all over, Daenerys nuzzles him affectionately and he returns the attention. He can’t believe he was going to deny himself this when all he’s ever wanted was to be important to someone and have someone he valued. 

She touches the glands at his neck, eyeing him expectantly. 

Most alphas never allow their omegas to claim them so that they can take more than one mate as they please. Jon has never been like most alphas. He presents his neck to her, a gesture that is akin to expressing love and trust in their culture. 

Even Daenerys is stunned by the display. 

“Are you sure you want to be bound to me and only me?” she asks, uncertain. 

“I’m sure. If I have you, I won’t have a need for anyone else.” 

Daenerys smiles. “It’s true. You are the man I’m destined to be with.” 

Jon gives her a curious glance. 

“There is a prophecy,” she begins. 

Valyrians and their prophecies. Actually, Jon believes all easterners are obsessed with prophecy. His father was from Lys and was always speaking of the prophecy that told him he would find the promised prince or something along those lines in the west. All the man found was his death. Well, that isn’t completely true. The man found Jon’s mother. 

“That is why my brother, Rhaegar, came to this place,” Daenerys explains. “His prophecy told him his destiny lay west. My father used to say that when Rhaegar returned, the Promised Prince would return with him.” 

Jon’s mouth goes dry. “That’s strange. My father spoke to my mother about the same prophecy...” 

“Who was your father?” 

“A Lyseni minstrel. He played the harp. He was killed in a battle he should've never been in.” 

Daenerys’s eyes water. “My brother Rhaegar was exceptional at the harp…” 

They stare at one another, and the truth begins to unfold.

Parading as a simple minstrel from Lys would allow his father to move easily through the kingdom as he scouted for his army that lied in wait out of sight. 

Perhaps he happened upon his mother during that time. Perhaps he eventually revealed his identity to her which is why she kept the truth from Jon and anyone who asked her his father’s name. Because if they knew Jon was the trueborn son to Aerys Targaryen’s firstborn son and heir, he would’ve been used as a hostage. His mother died protecting him and his father’s secret. As if he ever needed more reason to adore the woman. 

All of that aside, this revelation means that Daenerys is his aunt. 

Daenerys cups his face, there are tears in her eyes but she’s smiling. She looks happy and alive again. “You are the Promised Prince, Jon. You are my future and I am yours.” She kisses him, kisses his shock, utter confusion, and guilt away. 

The kiss feels right just as being with her has felt right from the moment he met her. Jon can’t speak for prophecies nor does he entertain them but he trusts his gut. He bears his neck to Daenerys after the kiss and when she sinks her teeth into his flesh he feels whole.

* * *

**Two years later**

“How long until it’s bigger?” the pup asks, squinting his purple eyes up at his mother. His silver-blonde curls look like spun gold in the sunlight. 

Daenerys touches her swollen belly as she kneels down to examine the lemon tree she and Jon planted together. It seemed to spring from the ground after the blessed rain they received after a long, hot summer. But it was still small and had yet to bear fruit. Their gardener told her that it would take four full years before it was fully grown. 

“Four years?” her son, Daeron asks, pouting. Then he nods, accepting this. “My sister will be here then, right?” 

Daenerys laughs. “Who said I was having her girl?” 

“Father says so.” 

“Your father is hardly a midwife.” 

“I have you know,” Jon says, walking out into the yard, dressed in uniform, his breastplate gleaming, his emerald cape flowing in the wind, “that I know more about pups than a midwife does.” 

“Papa!” Daeron runs to his father and jumps in his arms. 

Daenerys smiles at them as she stands. She listens to Daeron assault his father with a mountain of questions. With patience, Jon answers most of the questions, making their son laugh as he playfully teases Daenerys throughout. Even though he’s all smiles, she knows that something is amiss. It’s in his scent. 

Soon, their Septa comes and takes Daeron away for his lessons. They both agreed to get him started early, and for good reason. 

“The King has named me his heir. As you know, his pups are too young and none are promising,” Jon says once their son is gone. “His health is steadily declining. The Maester gave him another day or two.” There is no grief in his voice. 

So, Daenerys doesn’t pretend to grieve as well. “Will I have to start referring to you as your grace?”

“Will I have to start referring to you as my queen?” 

“Perhaps.” 

Jon chuckles and pulls her into his arms. He kisses her temple, rubbing her belly. “He’ll croak sooner if he learns the grandson of Aerys will rule his kingdom while he’s dead.” 

“It’s not too late to tell him.” 

They laugh. 

**The End.**


End file.
